Page 22 of Making Over Maris

She stopped and he, perforce, stopped with her. “Which women?”

He shrugged again.

A blinding realization struck her.

There was someone.

Someone he wanted to attract.

Ah. Hell.

Her mouth went dry.

Not Molly, obviously, and certainly not herself. Who could it be? Sara’s mind spun. This was Jack Maris. He had no life outside of work, right? So that meant whatever woman he’d met—whatever woman had captured his attention, spurred this desperate attempt to be more attractive—had to be someone at work.

Her heart fell. An icy ball formed in her chest where it had been.

It had to be Jenny.

Yeah. Jenny. She’d noticed Jack ogling her in staff meetings, nerd-flirting with her in the lunchroom. She’d always assumed he was ogling Jenny because of the piercings or the tattoos. Or the hair that changed color from day to day.

Jenny was a free spirit, a wild child. A very talented artist. It made sense that Jack would be attracted to her. They were two of a kind.

Why this knowledge hurt, shafted through her tinged with something that tasted a lot like depression, was a mystery.

She didn’t like Jack. Well, she liked him. She loved his snarky humor and that he was so damn smart. She laughed at his jokes and appreciated his insights. Absolutely adored their movie nights. But she didn’t like like him. Like that.

At least she hadn’t. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Now when she noticed his lips she didn’t think about two fat worms writhing in a nest of twigs. Now they seemed…full, lush. Tempting. The trimmed beard—that mouthwatering Van Dyke—brought them wickedly to the fore. And with his hair out of his face, she could see the lines of his cheekbones, the muscles on his neck and…

Oh dear God.

She did.

She did like like him.

No doubt it made her the shallowest person on the planet. A haircut. Some muscles. A snazzy outfit. That was all it took for her opinion of him to totally flip. To make her want him.

And she did. She wanted him. Really wanted him.

And he had the hots for Jenny.

Shit.

Sara dropped into a dead silence after they left the clothes store.

Jack shot her a glance. What was she thinking? Had the sight of him half-naked completely turned her off? Damn it. He’d been making progress. Or he thought he’d been.

He’d always hated the way he looked, especially how white his skin was—hot guys had tanned skin, didn’t they? It was usually quite brown. And shiny. His skin wasn’t shiny at all. Why hadn’t he been more careful?

Fuck, why hadn’t he gone tanning? Hell, gone outside. Like once? This was fucking Southern California.

Sara cleared her throat as they approached his car, nudging him out of his dark place, but not far. He popped the trunk and stowed his new purchases inside. Five hundred bucks worth. As though they would make any difference now.

“Jack?”

He stilled, dredging up the courage to meet her eyes. He didn’t want to see what he knew he would find on her face. Revulsion.